“Will Vincent Valentine stop caring about Lucrecia now?” Shelke asked.
The girl’s question caught Yuffie off guard. She was speechless.
“I mean,” Shelke continued, “he thinks of you as his partner, so…”
Yuffie took Shelke’s hand and looked into the girl’s eyes. “I’ll kick his ass if he forgets the woman who saved his life and gave you part of who you are.”
“You would hurt Vincent Valentine?”
“Only his morbid sense of pride.”
“He won’t forget. Even if he did, I wouldn’t let him.”
Shelke needed to know she mattered and Yuffie would see to it.
The sun had been up for more than an hour and, as usual, Vincent was soundly asleep. He didn’t even stir as Yuffie slipped back into bed. She placed her hand on his chest. Her mind raced. Her stomach churned.
She wanted to see it. Hold it. Learn all that it could do.
Just one quick strike and she could extract it.
And her heart slammed into her throat, choking off the passage of air. How could she think these sickening thoughts? Terrifying.
Her breath shook as she stroked the side of Vincent’s face. Waiting. Waiting for him to wake.